Winter Solace
by icor
Summary: The year after Geostigma, it snows in Edge.


Christmas-y themed fic. Well sort of; it has snow in it. Merry Christmas everyone!

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The year after Geostigma, it snows in Edge.

It happens suddenly, with no sign of stopping, and takes everyone by surprise. The air is unusually cold and crisp one night, and when they wake the whole city is white. It confuses some people at first – the children who grew up in Midgar have never seen snow before, and even some of the adults only know it from tales of far off lands.

Curiosity turns to simple joy, and soon everything halts for the day. Unofficially, that is; and Cloud hears no one complain – and even if they do, they're cheerfully ignored. Cars are left buried under piles of snow, and soon enough they become part of the scenery; the empty streets become giant playgrounds, and red faces grin through the freezing cold. The day's festivity lasts right through to the late evening, until everyone returns exhausted to their homes.

Cloud remembers the snow well enough from his childhood, and so can't help it if he isn't quite as excited as Marlene or Denzel. Still, Tifa seems to take enough delight in it, throwing snowballs at the children and then helping them build a snowman as a peace-treaty, playing until she is just as tired as they are. Like Marlene and Denzel bundled atop one another, each trying to curl up against side on the sofa, Tifa is lost in a haze of sleep, head rested against his shoulder.

He watches the fire in front of them crackle for sometime until a clock somewhere chimes midnight, and he realises that he was almost asleep himself. With a not-so gentle jerk of the arms wrapped around the three, they're forced wake up the best they can. Marlene's eyes shut again after a few minutes and she refuses to wake again; she thinks Cloud won't see the mischievous little grin on her face, but he carries with one arm, legs around his waist nonetheless. Denzel is more obliging, and trails behind Cloud, holding one hand and full of yawns.

Tifa, on the other hand, can't seem to make her mind up whether she's awake or not. She walks of her own accord, one arm linked with Cloud's, but he's pretty sure her eyes are closed the whole time. He sees the children to their rooms while Tifa stands at the door murmuring goodnights, and then takes it upon himself to walk Tifa to her room – he gets the feeling that she would happily fall asleep against the door frame if he let her.

Cloud smiles as she forgets to close the door and change her clothes, and she happily crawls between the bedsheets fully-dressed, forgetting he's there altogether. With her back towards him she throws an arm across the empty part of the bed as if she's holding someone, and he hears her murmur something to the ghost. He doesn't hear what exactly, but he doesn't ask her to repeat herself; he knows the words weren't meant for him, anyway.

Any exhaustion he might have felt disappears as soon as he walks into his room. He kicks his boots off and lays atop the duvet, knowing full well that he's not going to be getting any sleep tonight, once more. He twists and turns, eyes not wanting to rest now that he's alone. He thinks back to the crackling fire, and wishes he had fallen asleep there. In a second Cloud goes from laying restlessly to sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling on heavy boots. Quietly he makes his way down the stairs, skipping the one that always creaks, and pulls on his slightly damp coat as he slips out the door.

Cloud pretends, if only to humour himself, that he doesn't know where he's headed. The snowfall has relented a little, but it still obscures his vision; and it's colder now too, not so pleasant at this time of night. The cold bites at his face as he walks. There's no use taking the Fenrir out now – the roads are too slippery and weather conditions too bad. Either way, his feet have decided they're going to move of their own accord, and he suddenly realises he's already outside of Edge.

The ground he treads on is usually dead and hard, cracked by the sun, but now the snow crunches under his boots. He barely hears it through his own thoughts, and before he knows it he's on a cliff edge, looking down at the ruins of Midgar, and it's already early morning.

It's almost enough to make him fall in love again. The otherwise jagged, metal wasteland is covered in a soft blanket, and Cloud wonders if it's ever felt snow before. The once great city doesn't look so uninviting any more, doesn't look so haunted; it looks lonely, somehow, and Cloud finds himself drawn to it.

Even in ruins, Cloud knows the twisting streets of Midgar almost as well as he knows Edge; but everything here's so white, so whole, that he almost feels lost. Almost. But he's been here before, too many times, perhaps, so all he has to do is shove his hands into pockets and let his memory guide him.

He comes to the playground first – he always does – and mindlessly kicks the snow around. He's not here for any real reason, of course. The place was in ruin long before meteor came, but Cloud has come to the conclusion that nothing seems quite as bad in the snow. With that in mind he makes his way over to the over-sized moogle slide, and carefully climbs up the slippery stairs. He presses down on the top with one boot, just to make sure it's safe, and when he's satisfied he sits down, alone. Alone, and feeling that someone else should be there next to him. The only company he's permitted this time is a huge beam of metal that fell from the pillar and happily lodged itself in the poor moogle's head.

Feeling playful he makes his exit by spectacularly sliding down, almost getting stuck in the process, and landing hard on the ground.

There isn't far to go now, and the clouds above him have already turned pink, and he can't tell whether they're cheerful or in mourning. There is something pulling him away, repelling him and begging him not to go any further, but he simply dismisses it, putting it down to a tired, over active imagination, and the cold wind which is gathering speed.

The house, the only place in the slums to break the monotony, has been spared almost completely from destruction. Part of the plate had taken out a sizable chunk of the roof, and as a result now seems to be a permanent part of the architecture. Cloud fancies that he might venture in the house, but then again the locks were probably frozen shut. He could always climb through a window (the bedroom window on the top floor had never been shut when its owner deserted it) but in the end he decides it's best not knowing what was in there anymore.

After all, it's easier for him to walk away than it is to knock and have no one answer.

The empty streets earn his idle company for some time, and he walks in patterns this way and that, until by some great luck or divine intervention he reaches the great oak doors of the Church. They are harder to shift open this time of year, and the hinges groan as he forces his way in. The healing water has long since drained away back into the hungry earth, but now even the dirt is covered in a sprinkling of snow that drifts in through the cracked roof. A few flowers are still craning their necks to reach the fresh air, and Cloud kneels beside them and dusts them off.

Strange. It always seemed so much warmer in the Church, but today it's just as bitterly cold as the outside world. He feels deserted, once more; lost and lonely. Cloud makes his way from one pew to the next, trying to get comfortable in the hard wooden seats; vaguely he wonders how he'd ever managed to sleep in such a place.

Without her there, there wasn't any comfort to be sought, no reasons to his wanderings.

Cloud breaths deeply and for a moment everything feels different; whether it's the cold, clean air clearing his mind or something much more profound he can't tell, but all of a sudden he finds himself laughing, laughing at no one but himself. He runs his fingers over his arm, where the pink ribbon rests beneath his coat.

Just why had he gone on this hopeless walk, anyway? He hardly believes how foolish he can be, chasing the dead – perhaps in the end he simply thought she might like some company at this time of year, to walk in the snow she was born in. He shakes his head as he rises to his feet, and finds his place by the edge of the flowers.

"Why am I always searching for you?" he asks, but does not need an answer. "You're right here with us, aren't you? Always with me."

The Church echoes with his voice for a moment, hiding any whispered replies, and the sound is soon replaced by footsteps, heavy on the creaking floor boards. He begins to close the doors, to let them have their peace once more, but before he leaves he turns to speak once more.

"I'm going home now," he says, but it isn't a goodbye; "I'll see you there, Aerith."

And as he walks out into the brisk winter winds, the biting cold turns to a quick kiss.


End file.
